Of Radiowaves and Wanderlust
by Vulcan Wolf
Summary: Astronomer Paris Abraham lives a fairly normal life, managing a bunch of twenty-somethings geeking it out in the Roswell desert as she runs SETI. Her essentially mundane existence is turned over when the Enterprise shows up in the neighborhood.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Paris Abraham had always been fascinated by the stars and outer space in general, and she had a love of radio. Her father had gifted her with her first high-powered telescope at the age of ten and an old-fashioned CB radio at twelve so she could listen to truckers and dispatch. They had stumbled across NASA's frequencies purely by chance and she spent her free time watching the stars and listening to radio-exchanges at NASA with broadcasts from Cape Canaveral and Houston.

She graduated high-school in 2002 and went into radio programming and broadcasting, double majoring in astronomy at the local community college. After five years of college, Paris graduated with honors ad started her job-hunt. A year's hunt and waiting landed her a job with SETI in New Mexico and she got to combine her two loves. Paris had never believed they were alone in the universe, let alone their own galaxy. She was in good company at SETI and when they weren't monitoring extra terrestrial radio frequencies, or ETRFs, she and the boys talked about all things Star Wars, Star Trek, and dabbled in the realms of Stargate for the sheer hell of having nothing better to do with their time.

* * *

Paris had been with SETI for about a year when they got what the boys called The Big Kahuna, legit radio-frequency contact from the Big Black Beyond. It started out as a burst of noise across the regular frequency noises made by nearby planets and star systems. It was six seconds of noise, loud, unanticipated sound, and it scared the shit out of Paris and the boys. Paris froze, her heart pounding, and it grew _very _quiet in the control room.

"Did _anyone _else hear that? Or was that just me?" she whispered.

"I heard it."

"Yeah. Me, too."

"Good, I'm _not _going crazy. What was that?" she dared to breathe again. All over the room, looks were exchanged and suddenly they were running. Tracking satellites, radio frequencies, visuals, everything was pulled up.

"Think it was NASA?" Daniel Grant whispered.

"Nope. Wrong frequencies." She looked at her screen as she tracked the six-second sound-byte, "Something's out there." Once she had it, she isolated it and played it back at regular speed. It was clearly a human voice, male.

"Are we _sure _ that's not feedback from NASA?"

"Bobby, do we have anything on our tracking sats yet?" Paris pushed back from her desk and leaned back in the chair, looking towards the little room that held the tracking computers for their satellites.

"Yeah we do. The boys upstairs are gonna _love _this." Bobby Richards emerged from his corner of their isolated little world, "One of the orbiters got _this _a minute ago."

"On screen, Bobby." She turned back to the video screen where random satellite images flashed up interspersed with radar flashes. A minute later, Bobby's images showed up and the room once again fell dead silent. The images on the screen could not _possibly _be real.

"You're joking." She looked at Bobby.

"No! I swear, that's what the orbiter got!"

"Seriously? Come on, Bobby, we're not _that _gullible."

"You don't believe me."

"No I do not. Which orbiter got these?"

"Saturn Six."

"What'd we find?" Daniel wanted to know. Paris offered up the print-outs.

"If Bobby didn't mess with the pics, _that _thing is hiding in Saturn's orbit. Forgive my skepticism."

"The _Enterprise_? No way!" Daniel was floored. One of the landlines rang. Paris went to answer and realized that it was the direct line from Cheyenne Mountain in Colorado Springs just before she picked up. Paris had only spoken to the NORAD commanders once before regarding a mix-up with some of their tracking satellites, she was _not _looking forward to this conversation. NORAD would only be calling if their sats had picked up the little radar-blip that was the U.S.S. _Enterprise_ NCC-1701. None of her predecessors, just the Silver Lady herself come to call. Bracing herself for the reprimand she knew was coming, Paris picked up the receiver.

"Search for Extra Terrestrial Intelligence, Paris Abraham speaking."

"Abraham, you kids had better have a damn good excuse for the stun you just pulled with that orbiter." As soon as she heard the voice on the other end of the line, Paris almost dropped the phone. She double-checked the i.d. strip under the wall-mounted base. No, it was NORAD alright. Paris looked at her coworkers, who argued over the authenticity of the photos on the screen.

"Good morning, sir."

"Care to explain yourself?"

"Sir, you have to believe me, we didn't _touch _the orbiter. All we have are ten digital photographs and a six-second sound-byte that rolled over the frequencies about five minutes ago. There has been _no _tampering." Paris tried to keep her nerves from showing in the tone of her voice. It wasn't every day they got a phone-call from the man who led the free world and ran the United States of America.

"Paris."

"Yes, sir?"

"It's too early for you kids to be goofing around out there. What's going on?"

"I don't know, sir."

"I don't know, sir." He repeated what she'd said and Paris winced.

"That's honest truth, sir." She looked at her bickering coworkers, "What good reason would I have to tamper with my own bloody orbiters or lie to you, Mr. President?"

"Don't get smart with me, Paris Abraham." There was a tone of voice in his voice she rarely ever heard him use with her, or anyone really. Paris pinched the bridge of her nose so she wouldn't start crying.

"You put me here, sir, would it kill you to have a little faith in the Director of SETI? Hand-picked, I might add?" She chose her words carefully. There was a brief pause on the other end and she waited. Paris heard a murmur of voices in the background and narrowed her eyes, "Excuse me, sir?"

"Yes, Abraham?"

"Where are you? I hear other voices in the background." She'd gotten good at picking out certain background noises, voices were easy even over roaring traffic.

"I've gathered the Joint Cheifs of Staff. We're all here."

"The admirals, too, sir?"

"Yes."

"Damn." She was on speaker-phone then. When Paris hung up the phone ten minutes later, she had explicit, very direct orders from the President to report to Cheyenne Mountain by sunrise. She checked her watch. It was twelve-thirty. The sun didn't rise in Colorado until six-thirty or roughly thereabouts. She had six hours to get there. He wanted her to bring any and all printouts she could get her hands on, and he wanted her to come alone. She set the receiver on the cradle and pushed away from the wall.

"Bobby, I need any new pictures you got from Saturn Six and the originals. Printouts and a thumb-drive both. Do we have anymore audio-feed?"

"Two minutes."

"Good. I need that, too, and somebody get me a printout of the radar images."

"Sure, boss." The boys scattered and she ran off some data readouts.

"What's going on, Paris?" Daniel wandered over.

"NORAD wants our stuff."

"What? Why?"

"They think you idiots are paying around the orbiters and tracking satellites. Guess who gets into trouble with the boys upstairs when _that _happens?" She downloaded all of the data to her laptop and packed up for the drive to the nearest airfield.

"Paris, sweetheart, chill." Daniel followed her around as she collected her jacket from her office.

"Daniel not _now_! If you want to explain yourself to the Joint Chiefs and three senior admirals, you be my guest. Otherwise, keep your mouth shut. Bobby!"

"Here boss." He gave her a thick manila envelope of pictures, someone else tossed her a thumb-drive, and she walked out of the station.

"Hey, whoa! Wait a minute!" Daniel came after her, "Paris, where are you _going_?"

"Look, Daniel, whatever's up there, it's got the military big shots jumping at their own shadows. They think it's a hoax, _I _have six hours to get to Cheyenne Mountain and convince the President of the United States of _America_ that it's no joke, that we're not fucking around with our orbiters and satellites. If I'm not up there by sunrise, some bizarre and ugly level of Hell is going to open it's gates." She grabbed her cell-phone as it buzzed in her pocket.

"That _wasn't _my question." Daniel looked very hurt, but after talking to the president himself, and by extension the JCS, Paris wasn't in a very good mood. She read the text message she had just received.

::Roswell, Area 51. 2 hrs. Be there.:: The "or else" left unsaid was pretty obvious.

"Paris?"

"I'm going to Roswell, Daniel. I've got two hours. See ya 'round." She climbed onto her motorcycle, a Kawasaki Vulcan 500 LTD in candy-apple green, keyed the ignition, and waved as she left SETI. She wasn't entirely certain if there was anything in the Roswell desert, but orders were orders and besides, the ride would help Paris clear her mind.

* * *

The sky was _just _turning gray when she saw a turn-off on the highway and took it. Nothing but desert out here, and maybe something else. About three miles down the road, she saw a gate. Paris was stopped by two armed guards who demanded to see identification.

"Paris Abraham?" The one reading her driver's license looked at her.

"Yes."

"Good timing. The plane's just landing."

"What plane?"

"That one." The guard pointed up as she heard the roar of turbine engines. Paris looked up and over one shoulder and gasped, ducking as the engine-wash hit them.

"Air Force One!" she looked up again.

"Good morning, Miss Abraham." The guards returned her license and waved her through the gate. She rode onto Roswell Air Force Base and coasted to a stop under the starboard wingtip of Air Force One once the pilot had killed the engines. Reaching up, she brushed warm metal with her fingertips. She was probably the only civilian who could ever get this close without the Secret Service going ape-shit. Paris smiled and killed the bike as the boarding stairs were lowered. She was standing at the bottom of the stairs as her uncle came down.

"Hey, Uncle Jack!"

"Getting into trouble again, Paris?"

"You know it's what I do best." She accepted the hug, "I wasn't expecting the red-carpet treatment after that phone-call, though."

"Once I figured out which orbiters were transmitting those images, I knew I had to give you a chance to defend yourself."

"And in the process get me out of SETI before I killed somebody." She looked around, "So, mind a favor?"

"Already done, my girl." Jack Harlen just smirked. Presidential gag-orders were a big deal, the nerdy boys of SETI were about to get served their first ever gag-order and by god would they keep it…or else.

"Thanks, Uncle Jack. Though how I'm supposed to explain all of _this _to the Joint Chiefs I have _no _idea."

"I thought you might say that, so let me show you something the Air Force has been storing in the basement since before you were born." He put an arm around her shoulders and guided her into the base's main structure.

* * *

Even as Paris Abraham entered Roswell Air Force Base that cool New Mexico morning, the super-classified objects she would eventually see for herself and positively identify for everyone else had been located by the watchful, brooding First Officer of the _Enterprise_. Preliminary scans had indicated a Vulcan presence somewhere in New Mexico. He had begged a favor from the captain and taken one of the shuttles on a scouting run closer to Earth. Upon closer inspection, Spock was able to identify a Vahklas-type Vulcan ship and at least two very faint Vulcan life-signs. Even now, five years after the officially-designated Narada Incident, the discovery of any Vulcans at all, anywhere, was good news to him. He could have wished to find them in a safe, _friendlier _time, but beggars could not be choosers, to borrow a purely Human phrase. What he knew of pre-First Contact Humans, they were a violent, suspicious, superstitious lot. Saddened, and determined to take back from the Humans what had been lost to the Vulcans, Spock returned to the _Enterprise_, reported to the captain on his findings and submitted a log-entry on the matter, and began planning how he would recover the ship and it's surviving crew safely and with the least interaction with the pre-First Contact citizens of Earth.

* * *

Back in Roswell, Paris Abraham was having a field-day and loving every minute of it. She had already succeeded in making twenty top scientists feel like a bunch of dumb dipshits by automatically and positively identifying the space-craft as a Vahklas-type Vulcan transport ship the minute she laid eyes on it. The novelty of proving herself smarter than twenty Ivy League professionals wore of pretty fast when her uncle showed her the ship's four-man crew. Two had died on impact, two had been put into some kind of suspended animation. Using a form of cryogenics, all four had been preserved. Paris stood by the gurney holding one of the Vulcans, studying the peaceful features.

"Paris?" her uncle spoke her name quietly.

"He looks so calm, so peaceful." Paris didn't dare speak above a whisper, "I've never a seen a Vulcan before, not like this." She looked up, "Could I stay a while?"

"I think the Joint Chiefs can wait. Take your time." He just left, giving orders that she was to be left alone. Reilly knew that her life would never be the same again. She could leave Area 51 and never return, but she would never forget what she had seen and learned here. Inspired by a very childish desire, Paris looked around to see if there was anyone who would catch her. It didn't look like it, so Paris quietly pulled off one of the Latex gloves she had been given to wear and reached out to do something she certainly couldn't have done if the Vulcan had been awake. The first touch of ice-cold skin made her jump and she pulled back with a startled gasp. Paris looked around quickly to make sure that had gone unnoticed. The lab seemed almost empty. Exhaling slowly, Paris carefully stretched out her left hand and touched the cold skin.

"I don't even know your name." She whispered, "I know nothing about you." Her fingers shook as she traced features she was familiar with but had never been able to explore. This Vulcan was clearly in later life, the others were much younger by appearance. His hair was almost completely gray, just turning white, his face lined with soft wrinkles that only made him look wise but not _old_. Paris took time to stroke the curve of one upswept ear and remember that their ears, like their hands, were very sensitive to touch. Like hers were. People wondered why she didn't like shaking hands unless she had to? Paris sighed and looked at the aged face, "You're like me, aren't you?"

"Paris, the Joint Chiefs are waiting." Her uncle's voice did not startle her for some reason, neither did the realization that she'd been in contemplative study for almost half an hour.

"I'm coming." She leaned over the elderly Vulcan, who struck her very much as a grandfather figure, and pressed her lips to the wise forehead just briefly. Pulling away was so hard, part of Paris wanted to stay. What that part was or how dominant it might actually be, she wasn't sure, but Paris knew she had to make the Joint Chiefs of Staff understand that the _Enterprise_'s unexpected presence in the orbit of Saturn was no cause for alarm and certainly not a matter of national or international security.

* * *

As she debriefed the Joint Chiefs of Staff on the current, admittedly bizarre situation an hour and a half later, Paris's mind and heart were focused on the elderly Vulcan she had seen in Roswell. Listening to the Joint Chiefs and the admirals discuss the next course of action, Paris wondered why the elder seemed so familiar when he wasn't even supposed to exist. She went through a list of every Vulcan she was familiar with. They were arguing the odds of making contact with someone from the _Enterprise_, which were pretty good in her opinion, when it occurred to Paris just who her mysterious elder was. She leaned against the table and folded her hands a certain way under her chin. Was it really Soval? The very first Vulcan Ambasssador to the United Federation of Planets? Paris just wanted to get back to Roswell to see if she was right about her Vulcan.

No common ground or agreement was reached in that session, and when Paris was dismissed, she returned to Roswell. Paris visited the ship first and managed to get a manifest of it's crew and passengers. Three crew and one passenger were named. She knew Vulcan, but not how to read it. Taking a printout of the manifest, she visited the suspension chamber to see the Vulcans. Yes, it was Soval. The other survivor was T'Pol. Wondering how long the _Enterprise _would wait, she contented herself with monitoring the _Enterprise _from Area 51 and the occasional bout of daydreaming.

Orders came from NORAD to bring one of the Vulcans out of suspended animation three days later. Paris got a say on which one and she decided to bring Soval out first. This was picked up by the _Enterprise_ and _they _went into action accordingly.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"I look ridiculous!"

"You look like a doctor, Bones, a twenty-first century doctor. That's exactly how you're supposed to look."

"I still think I look ridiculous." Leonard McCoy ignored the smug grin on his friend's face as he finally got the tie knotted correctly and looked critically at his reflection. His uniform, worn like a second skin for the last five years, was gone. In it's place he wore gray dress-slacks, a white dress-shirt, a neutral navy-blue tie, polished black dress-shoes, and a white century-appropriate lab-coat with his name on the breast pocket. "Remind me again why _I'm_ doing this?"

"Because they have a twenty-second century Vahklas-type Vulcan ship and the four Vulcans who were on it when it crashed in the Roswell desert nineteen years ago. And they're bringing one of the survivors out of suspended animation this morning."

"We're practically breaking into a top-secret government logistics base, that doesn't _bother_ you?"

"Not really, no."

"Well it bothers the hell outta me!"

"Look, Bones, all you have to do is find Doctor Abraham and you'll be in the clear."

"Who's Doctor Abraham again?" he knew the name, but he couldn't remember the face to go with it to save his miserable life.

"Doctor Abraham is the director of SETI in New Mexico. She is twenty-seven years old and at the top of her field." That question was answered by Spock, who had come in unannounced, "She is now the head of Project Vulcan."

"Project Vulcan?" McCoy snorted, "Is that what they're calling this bloody circus?"

"Now it is. Find Doctor Abraham, I have to believe she will be sympathetic to our cause."

"Spock, I love you, and you drive me yonkers, but for some reason I _really_ don't see Doctor Abraham making herself a willing accomplice in stealing a ship and four bodies."

"Three, Bones."

"Fine, three bodies. I just don't see her handing over the keys, y'know?" Leonard couldn't shake the sense of foreboding that told him this was a really bad idea. He hated flying, but he hated transporters much more and only when he had both feet on solid ground again did he breathe. There was no one in his hallway, so he pulled out his communicator.

"McCoy to Enterprise."

"Kirk here."

"I'm in." He peered around the corner.

"Standing by for your word. Good luck."

"I'm gonna need more than luck, but thanks anyway." He saw a young woman with two gentlemen in olive-drab fatigues of the kind worn by both the Air Force and the Army in the 21st century coming down the opposite hallway and narrowed his eyes, "Jim, can you send me that data on Doctor Abraham?"

"Done." He waited until the transfer was completed and pulled up a profile still of his contact. Then he looked out at the girl coming towards him.

"That's her. McCoy out." He shut off his communicator and waited until Doctor Abraham had passed him unaccompanied. She was ten feet away when he stepped out of hiding. Keeping his fingers crossed this charade would work, he dared to call her out, "Doctor Abraham!"

"Yes?" She turned towards the sound of his voice.

"Wait up." He caught up with her, "Sorry about the hold up."

"No problem. And, uh, you can just call me Paris."

"Doctor Paris Abraham. Kinda has a nice ring to it." Something about Abraham put Leonard instantly at ease.

"You boys caused quite a stir up on the mountain yesterday." She blushed three shades of red and Leonard could see what Spock was talking about. Paris Abraham was sympathetic to their current mission because she had already seen the _Enterprise_, she had seen the Vulcan ship and the bodies.

"Sorry about that."

"No problem, I just had to go up to Colorado Springs to debrief the Joint Chiefs of Staff and convince three senior admirals that the Enterprise was of no threat. I take it you boys took a wrong turn somewhere?"

"Close enough. Your Vulcans were a lucky bonus." He shoved his hands into his pockets as they walked, "Word passed by our way you folks were bringing one of the survivors out of stasis."

"And you pulled the short straw. Sorry about that." Abraham frowned, "I just hope you know something about Vulcan anatomy, because we're a little on the ignorant side."

"You didn't do autopsies?" That actually surprised him, but it was also a relief. Unintentional respect for the dead was never a bad thing.

"I wasn't born yet when the T'Valla crashed seven miles away from this base. It happened ten months before. I was born I saw the bodies, there were no scars on the deceased."

"Oh great." Leonard raked one hand through his hair, "And you're…twenty-seven now?"

"Yeah."

"Which one are you bringing out?"

"Soval, he was the T'Valla's only passenger at the time of the crash. The pilot and the navigator were both killed on impact, the tactical officer survived long enough for them to put her into stasis." Abraham's expression was very severe. Leonard frowned.

"Wait a minute, kid. What year are we in right now?"

"2005. The T'Valla crashed in 1984, no one ever found out about it until my Saturn Six orbiter caught the Enterprise in hiding and I had to diffuse the situation up at NORAD." Abraham passed through an opening door after inputting a code, "I'm the only civilian who's seen the T'Valla or the bodies, but I'm not the only one who knows about the Enterprise."

"As long as your SETI buddies keep their mouths shut, my job will be real easy."

"No problem. We're under a Priority One presidential gag-order out at SETI. The boys may be nerds of the highest order, but when my threats of severe reprimand come with the power of the White House to back me up, I don't think we have to worry about the average, ignorant civilian finding out." The severity of Abraham's expression reminded him just briefly of Jim when one of the ensigns did something stupid or when he and Spock just couldn't agree on something.

"Doctor Abraham, are you familiar with basic Vulcan anatomy?" it was a bizarre question, but if they were really going to bring Ambassador Soval out of stasis after a crash that had killed the pilot and the navigator on impact seventeen years earlier, Leonard knew he would need a pair of hands on deck belonging to someone who at least knew the basics.

"If by basics you mean do I know where the heart is, yeah. I know basic Vulcan anatomy and then some." She looked at him as they came into an anteroom, "Why?"

"I'd be a damned fool if I didn't think Ambassador Soval hadn't suffered serious physical trauma before you put him into stasis. If bringing him out doesn't trigger cardiac failure and God knows what else, you can just paint me green and call me an Orion." He hadn't meant for that to come out the way it did and stopped dead in his tracks as Abraham burst out laughing. Leonard blinked and looked at his giggling companion, "Did I really just say that out loud?"

"Yes, yes you did. And here I thought you were a doctor."

"Not a comedian. If anyone else had heard that, I'd never live it down." He shot the younger doctor, an astrophysicist according to her dossier, a stern look, "That's just between you and me, kid, I get enough grief from my own resident idiots without giving them more fodder for the flames."

"Aw, he's not that bad is he?"

"You try living for eight years with someone like that and let me know how your sanity handles it."

"You know, I didn't think you'd be so young." Abraham eyed him on a long once-over, "Mind my asking how old you are?"

"Thirty-five."

"Ah, one to age gracefully. Lucky you." She grinned, again reminding him of Jim and he wondered if the two were somehow related. That was a mystery for another day, however. At the moment, he had a frozen Vulcan to thaw out and keep from dying. Yay.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Anything in "..." is Standard English, anything in '...' is Vulcan. That is all.**

* * *

Chapter Three

When Soval coded at borderline conciousness, Paris and McCoy were ready for it. Readiness didn't keep Paris from panicking as Soval began to crash.

"He's not breathing!" Doctor Morales was in a real panic. He was Roswell's resident physician, but he was no xenobiologist nor an expert in Vulcan anatomy. McCoy, on the other hand, was at least one if not the other, and he just took it all in grim stride with determination that came from a place no one else could tap.

"Paris, you got any first-aid training?"

"I worked a summer as a volunteer EMT. Does that count?"

"God enough. Get up here, we're doing this the real old-fashioned way!" he waved at the table. Paris hesitated only a moment before she climbed onto the table. She felt really self-conscious and wondered how many cultural taboos she was about to break as she started CPR. She had only saved Human lives before, never an extra terrestrial and certainly never a Vulcan.

"Come on." She whispered between bouts, "Come on, Ambassador. You can't die like this, you deserve better."

"I don't think he can hear you, darlin'." McCoy murmured as she gave Soval her oxygen, willing him to breathe. Paris glared at him but said nothing. It was too much like kissing, but everything suddenly leveled out and Paris scrambled from the table. No one in the room moved or hardly dared breathe. Dark brown eyes opened to the world for the first time in twenty-seven years and Paris exhaled sharply as Soval turned his head to her. He blinked several times to focus and she saw recognition light his eyes. How could he possibly recognize her?

'Qual se tu?" he asked in a voice harsh from disuse. Across the table, McCoy's eyebrows had almost reached his hairline. Paris didn't know how to answer that and thought he'd mistaken her for someone else. She knew what the question meant, but not how to answer when it was addressed to her person. But he repeated the question in a stronger voice, lifting one hand to touch the side of her face. McCoy choked and Paris went very still. Images flashed through her mind and she understood.

"Doctor Abraham?" there was great sadness in his voice as he called her by name and she seized his hand in hers, the only person in the room allowed to touch him so intimately.

'You're asking for Miriam.' Paris said slowly, knowing her grief was reaching him through their joined hands, 'I'm her daughter, Paris Abraham.'

'I did not know Miriam had a daughter, forgive me. You look so like your mother I thought she was with me.' For a Vulcan, Soval was very expressive. Paris saw a distinct sadness in his eyes and knew she would have to break the news of her mother's death very gently. They got him to recovery and Paris made a phone-call. As the call rang through, she had purposely dialed a private number, Paris looked around the corner where she could see McCoy and Morales as they discussed reanimating T'Pol next. At first Paris thought he had turned his phone off, he tended to do that sometimes, but on the sixth ring he picked up.

"I told you to use a landline." Blunt. Not that Paris was surprised.

"He asked about Mom."

"What?"

" He _asked_ _about Mom_." She repeated through clenched teeth.

"Who asked?"

"Ambassador Soval." Paris raked one hand through her hair and tried to hold the tears at bay long enough to talk, "He thought I was Mom."

"Why would he think you were Miriam?"

"Because I obviously look like her, the way she looked in 1984!" Paris dropped her voice as McCoy looked her way, "Uncle Jack, I didn't have the heart to tell him that Mom's been dead for six years." She learned againsy the wall and closed her eyes.

"Paris."

"Yes, sir?"

"Finish what you started with this bloody project and put it all behind you."

"This isn't something you shove into the back of the closet and forget about it, sir." She rubbed her eyes tiredly, "I have another survivor to reanimate, two bodies to account for, and a transport ship sitting in the basement. Not to mention, I've got to make sure nobody else finds out about the images on Saturn Six." She heard a soft scrape and looked over to see McCoy standing a few feet away. She sighed and turned her back on him, "Listen, I've gotta go. I'll call on a landline next time. Goodbye, sir." Hanging up, Paris stuffed the phone into her pocket, sliding to the floor. Paris hugged her knees to her chest and tried to remember the last time she'd eaten or slept. It had to be three or four days. She remembered eating Domino's Pizza the night she'd found the Enterprise, and she'd eaten breakfast on Air Force One on the way to Colorado Springs, but not since then.

Paris was aware when Doctor McCoy sat down next to her but she did not engage him in conversation. About fifteen minutes had gone by when her phone rang. She dug it out of her pocket and looked at the screen.

"Who is it?"

"I don't know. No number usually means a wrong number or a telemarketer."

"A what?"

"I'll tell you in a second." She flipped open her phone, "This is Doctor Abraham." There was a brief pause and she groaned, rubbing her forehead, "Hello?"

"Yes, hello. Is this Doctor Abraham?" A distinctly male voice filtered through. Shit. Telemarketers. Paris ignored McCoy's inquisitive glances. Something about the voice was familiar to her, but she was so tired, so strung-out, she couldn't put her finger on it.

"Speaking."

"Oh good. You sounded older for a moment."

"Excuse me?" Paris frowned.

"Forgive any forwardness, my dear doctor." She swore he was laughing. She was about to demand he name himself when she happened to look at McCoy, who shrugged.

"Forgiven, sir. Are you trying to reach Doctor McCoy?"

"Considering I haven't heard from the man in a few hours."

"Just a minute." She handed the phone over, "It's for you."

"Surprise, surprise. What'd he say to you?"

"It's you he wants to talk to." She shrugged and got up, "Just flip the phone closed when you're done." Paris went around the corner to give McCoy privacy and tried to figure out how they'd gotten her number, let alone how anyone up there knew how to get hold of her at all. As she paced the hallway, it occurred to her hat she had actually spoken to the captain of the Enterprise. Paris stopped dead in her tracks.

"Oh…my god!" She leaned against the wall, trying to catch her breath, "That was _him_!"

"Doctor Abraham?" she almost jumped out of her skin as Doctor McCoy hailed her.

"Uh?"

"Your turn, darlin'." He smiled and gave back the phone, "He don't bite hard."

"Thanks." She swallowed hard and lifted the phone, "Captain Kirk?" God her voice sounded small.

"That's what Spock calls an epiphany." His chuckle was not mean-spirited, but she didn't appreciate it.

"We just call them "Eureka Moments" or "Aha Moments" in my business, Captain. So, uh, what can a lone, lowly astrophysicist do for the captain of the Enterprise?"

"Oh, nothing. Well, actually, there are a few things you can do." Uh oh.

"Yes, sir?" Paris couldn't believe this conversation was even happening. She tried to picture the captain, where he was as they had this very bizarre conversation, what he looked like. She was thinking a young, very young William Shatner, except his voice sounded wrong.

"First, stop calling me Captain, it makes me feel really old."

"Well, what else am I supposed to call you, sir?"

"Not Sir, either." Oh he was one cocky bastard. McCoy must have figured it out, he was rolling his eyes.

"Then what _should_ I call you, _sir_?"

"Jim, if you please, Doctor Abraham."

"Now who feels old!" she laughed, "No, you don't get to call me Doctor Abraham if I'm not allowed to call you Captain or Sir."

"Then what would you prefer?"

"Just Paris, please."

"Paris. I like that."

"You said there were a few things I could do for you, and seeing as we the business of names taken care of." She had to get him back on track, "So, what else can I do for you?"

"Stop taking yourself for granted, it's so very frustrating."

"Was that an order?"

"I can make it one. Assistant Director of SETI, current chief executive of Project Vulcan. Those are not small responsibilities. Not to mention talking down the Joint Chiefs of Staff, standing up in defense of five hundred displaced explorers."

"How would you know about that?" More realistically, how could he _not _know about that? He probably had a trace on her right now. He probably knew where she was and who she talked to at any time of day.

"Doctor Abraham, suffice it to say you are a person of great interest to my officers and myself." There was something in his voice that made her wish this was a face-to-face encounter, "So I will only say this once, Doctor Abraham, and once only. Never doubt yourself and never, _never_ let someone tell you that you can't do something." It was probably the most random, single nicest thing anyone had said to her.

"Thank you, captain."

"My pleasure, Doctor Abraham. I'm not going to say goodbye, however."

"Because you don't say goodbye unless you mean it, I know. Until next time, Captain."

"Sweetheart, just call me Jim." He scolded before she flipped her phone closed and tucked it into her back pocket.

"Come on, darlin', Doctor Morales should have things ready for round two by now." McCoy took her by the arm and led the way back to the reanimation chamber, where they set about bringing T'Pol out of stasis. They did not wake the younger Vulcan before they moved her to Recovery, Paris had her reasons for doing it that way. Once everything was ready, she called NORAD on a landline.

"Yes, may I speak to Admiral Abraham, please?"

"Just a moment." She waited five minutes to speak to her father, who asked for an update.

"Success, sir. Both survivors have been taken out of stasis and are resting in Recovery. I have gone over the T'Valla a number of times and if I can get a sign-off, I'll make sure it goes back to the people it belongs to."

"How do we know that thing can even fly, Paris? It's been sitting down there for twenty-seven years!"

"I'll get someone down here who can tell us if the T'Valla is flight-capable." She was thinking about Spock, who would know far more about the small craft than anyone else in Roswell.

"Do you know someone?"

"I've got a connection I'm willing to try using, sir. Do I have your permission to proceed?"

"Yes. Good luck." There was a pause, "Paris?"

"Yes?"

"Will I see you again?" There was a lot of weight in that question. Paris looked over her shoulder at McCoy, who was in the middle of a conference with Captain Kirk.

"I can't give you a straight answer, sir. I haven't cleared it with the Enterprise's captain." She got McCoy's attention and lowered the phone, "What'd he say?" McCoy flashed her a smile and a thumbs-up. She was going. She gulped, "Admiral Abraham?"

"Yes, doctor?"

"I think this is where I say goodbye, good luck, and live long and prosper, sir." For some reason, the thought of leaving everything behind made her sad, but she was excited. Her father sighed.

"Paris, will you come back to the mountain once before you leave?"

"I can do that easy. I'll say goodbye in person, I promise."

"Until then." Her father hung up first and she had no sooner put her phone in her pocket than the air around her came alive with electricity and she heard a static crackle. The fine hairs on her body stood on end and she watched everything familiar to her disappear. When she touched down a minute later, she was so far away from Earth and Area 51 it wasn't even funny. She blinked, utterly confused and a little frightened.

"Ho-ly…sweet baby." She stepped off the platform in one of the transporter rooms, looking around. Off to one side, seated behind the controls, was Scotty. Beside him sat a young Russian. They looked at each other and smiled. Scotty and Chekov. What an odd pair. She pointed to the closed doors, "Um, do I just…?"

"Zhat vay, Doctor Abraham." Chekov smiled and two pairs of kind, smiling eyes watched her leave the transporter room. The hallway outside was empty, but she suspected it was only a matter of time before she encountered someone on the crew. Clenching her hands into fists to stop the shaking, Paris padded through the hallways of the Enterprise. She encountered any number of crew, but no one gave her more than a cursory glance.

"Find Commander Spock and take him back to Roswell so he can tell you if the T'Valla will fly." She whispered hoarsely to herself. She stood out like a sore thumb, and felt very self-conscious.

"Doctor Abraham!" someone called her by name and she spun around.

"Doctor McCoy!" finally, a familiar face! She ran back to him, "Thank god!"

"Get a little lost, darlin'?"

"A little?"

"Come on, they don't bite." He led her by the hand into a turbo-lift and directed it to the bridge, "If it's Spock or Jim you're lookin' for, they'll be on the bridge." As soon as they were alone, Paris sank to the deck and leaned her head against the wall.

"Holy fuck." She covered her eyes with one hand. She felt the lift stop and knew when Doctor McCoy dropped to his knees before her. She heard the soft beeping of the tri-corder and the equally soft cursing as McCoy got back readings. She hadn't slept in three days, hadn't eaten in four, her system had taken a serious hit. Her neurologic processes were way off the charts.

"Damn it, Paris, why didn't you say something?"

"I'm sorry!" she croaked. McCoy raked one hand through his hair, a thoroughly frustrated look on his face.

"I swear you're related to him! I don't know how, but you're just like him! You smile like him, you laugh like him! You push yourself until you collapse, just like him!" McCoy growled, putting together a hypospray with record speed and precision, "It'll be just my luck if you're allergic to every damn drug on the market."

"I'm not."

"Good, then this should do some good." He pressed the tip of the hypo to the side of her neck, "Jim hates these things with a passion, hates 'em. Always has."

"Bet that keeps him out of Sickbay." She winced as the drug entered her bloodstream, but felt better almost instantly. McCoy settled down next to her, and it grew quiet in the lift. She wondered how long it would be before anyone missed them. He ran a second scan, made a noise of approval, and she heard another click. She raised her head from her arms and looked at him, "What's that?"

"The first one was to stabilize your system, this one's gonna let you go down nice and easy. You need some sleep, kiddo, this'll help." He touched the hypo to the side of her neck, she felt the weird sting, and five seconds later was sound asleep.

* * *

Paris slept what felt like hours, and when she woke up again, she had no concept of what time it was. A gentle glow was steadily getting brighter, one she rolled over to escape. She was in a bed, a strangely comfortable, warm bed. She groaned and blinked, freeing one arm to look at her watch. It was almost six in the morning if her watch was accurate, she double-checked the clock sitting on the bedside table to see if that was right. Yep.

"Ugh. How long was I out?" she shoved up on her elbows to look around. She was obviously no where near Sickbay, or back on Earth, the room looked too different. She was in someone's quarters, she wasn't sure who had given up their bed to a stranger.

"Somebody's got good taste." She murmured as she rolled over and sat up, running one hand through her hair. Her lab-coat, jeans, and shirt lay folded neatly on a chair with her boots on top, she wore a pair of boxers and a tanktop. They were fitted to a female figure, she must have borrowed from one of the girls. As Paris looked around from the bed, she heard a beeping sound. It belonged to a device sitting on the bedside table by the clock. She reached over and activated the device by pressing a button on it's surface and watched a three-dimensional figure come to life. It was only about six inches tall, a Human male figure clad in black regulation trousers, boots, and a gold Command division tunic. He was tall, she guessed, with messy blonde hair and blue eyes that laughed for no reason at all.

"Good morning, Doctor Abraham." The figure addressed her and she gasped, "By now I assume you've returned to the world of the living and welcome you aboard the Enterprise. I'm only sorry I didn't have a chance to do so in person yesterday. I've spoken to Doctor McCoy at length regarding your health, both physical and mental, and I share his concerns. However, that is for later discussion. As you are awake and watching this message, I will simply give you these orders: Take a shower and prepare for your day. We will meet you in the mess-hall for breakfast. Good morning." With that, the figure disappeared and Paris only sat still for a few minutes before she sprang out of bed and dashed into the bathroom. The shower had running water, a luxury she had not expected to find on the starship, but she didn't linger. Washing her hair, she went out to get dressed and noticed a uniform folded on the counter. It was a feminized version of the uniforms she'd seen the men wearing, tailored especially to the female figure.

"They even got the color right." She smiled and pulled on the uniform. Once she had the tunic on, she pulled her hair into a braid and coiled it into a bun at the nape of her neck in the same military-esque style she'd adopted at Roswell. She looked at her reflection in the mirror and nodded, smoothing down the front of her tunic, "Not a bad sight for somebody who slept more than twelve hours." She left the bathroom, left the bedroom, and headed out on her own, snagging her lab-coat on the way out, just on the outside chance anyone had a question regarding her validity to the title of Doctor. Finding a computer, she located the mess-hall and set off in that direction to meet her hosts for breakfast. None of the nerves she'd felt yesterday were prevalent today. This morning, Paris felt good, she felt sure of herself. When she stepped out of the lift on Deck 12, she unconsciously brushed off her tunic again and peeked out around the corner. Captain Kirk stood outside the mess-hall with Commander Spock and Doctor McCoy. She recognized Kirk from the message and there was no one else the Vulcan officer beside him could possibly be. She fought off a raging blush and stepped out around the corner.

"Look long and hard, boys, this is the only time you'll catch me in a uniform." She stood still for inspection, having effectively startled all three of them, and didn't miss the way Doctor McCoy's eyes widened. Vulcans were not known for expressiveness, but Spock proved her wrong on that front. His eyebrows almost reached his hairline and she clearly saw his eyes widen.

"Well, Doctor Abraham, look at you!" Kirk was, of course, living up to his reputation as he circled her, "Damn you clean up nice."

"I'll take that as a compliment, Captain." She needled him on purpose. McCoy rolled his eyes.

"Leave the poor girl alone, Jim, for God's sake." The old-fashioned doctor scolded, taking Paris in hand and leading the way into the mess. They headed for a line of catering carts loaded with more food than she'd ever seen before except in buffet lines. Some of it she recognized, some of it she didn't. She peeked over McCoy's shoulder at something that vaguely resembled bread pudding.

"What's safe?"

"Just about everything. Any preference?"

"You know more about the food up here than I do."

"Fair enough." He just smiled at her and went through the line.

"Do you think anyone's missed me down there?"

"We've been monitoring the frequencies of your last location very closely, Doctor Abraham. There has been no undue outburst." Spock's voice almost right in her ear was the last thing Paris had expected and she almost jumped out of her own skin. So she was still a little high-strung after all. She jumped out of line in her alarm, but Spock caught her.

"Jesus! Do you make it a bad habit to sneak up on people first thing in the morning, Commander?" she gasped. He just looked at her and shared a look with McCoy before leading her to a table. She wasn't alone for long once he deduced she could stay out of trouble long enough for them to get breakfast, she was aware of someone offering her a cup of what smelled like coffee.

"Here, Doctor. Try zhat." She recognized the accent first as she accepted the offering and looked up into the eyes of the Enterprise's Russian navigator. He looked so young! She smiled.

"Thank you, Ensign."

"May I…join you?"

"Please, be my guest. I can't promise I'll be very good company." She waved to an empty seat and suspected her table would soon be very full. Chekov was very good company, joined very shortly by the helmsman. Chekov's offering was coffee, Russian style, and she fell in love with it.

"The Captain says you're from the surface." Sulu ventured after a while. Paris looked for Kirk and his officers. They were still in line, and it didn't seem they either noticed or cared.

"Yeah. Not that I'll have much to miss or leave behind once I get the Vulcans out."

"Commander Spock's ship?"

"It's a Vaklas-type personal transport, smaller than most ships. How much do you know about that?"

"Everything. Captain doesn't believe in secrets."

"From the important people, anyway." She shrugged, "The only real trouble I had was convincing the authorities you weren't any threat to us."

"Ve are…threatening?" Chekov looked so confused. Paris smiled.

"Well, it's not every day the Enterprise shows up in Saturn's orbit." She sipped the coffee, "The only other problem I had was when Ambassador Soval mistook me for my mother."

"Why is that a bad thing?"

"She died six years ago." Paris frowned, leaning against the bulkhead behind her, "I guess I look like she did when she was my age."

"Don't be sad." Chekov moved around the table to sit next to her, "You're too pretty to be sad."

"I don't know if I'm sad or tired, or both." She looked up as the others arrived. Paris looked at the tray McCoy put down before her and wrinkled her nose, "I'm not going to starve, Doctor McCoy."

"Says the girl who hasn't slept in four days or eaten in three. Be quiet and eat." He scolded, giving her _that_ look. Breakfast, not usually her favorite meal of the day nor one she took seriously, was an enjoyable affair and she realized that the small enclave of officers was truly a functioning family-unit. She envied them that stability, she'd never really had the kind of family her friends did growing up. Yeah she had two parents who loved her, but she rarely saw them at all. And she saw even less of her father after Mom's death. After breakfast, she was given free reign of the Enterprise. She hadn't the faintest idea where to go, but she did want to get Spock alone to ask him for help with the T'Valla. He disappeared rather quickly, but some searching got her into the science labs.

"Whoa!" she breathed as she stepped into every scientist's dream, "This place is incredible!" There were stations for all scientific disciplines, separate smaller labs for experiments. She found Spock in one of the astro-labs, studying star-charts of the Solar System and nearby systems, planetary, and stellar bodies.

"Commander?"

"Doctor Abraham." The First Officer turned from his charts, "How may I be of assistance this morning?"

"I need to ask you a favor." She didn't move from the door of the lab, afraid to go any closer to the youngest Vulcan she'd ever seen or met, "The T'Valla is ready for launch, I'm just not sure if she'll get off the ground. I was…wondering if you wouldn't mind coming back to Area 51 with me to judge the T'Valla's flight-worthiness."

"Why are you asking me?"

"Because I don't trust myself to fly a Vulcan ship that's not even supposed to exist in my time. Because it doesn't belong to the United States government or any government in this century. It belongs to the Vulcans, and I just thought you might want it back." She shrugged uncomfortably.

"You…are willing to give it back to the Vulcan government?"

"If you'll take it."

"We would be pleased to have the T'Valla and her survivors. So few of us are left as it is." He grew sad, grim, but Paris didn't pry. She left the doorway and ventured nearer.

"So…does that mean you'll come back to Area 51 with me?"

"Yes. It goes against the Temporal Prime Directive, but I will do it."

"We'll worry about Prime Directives later, right now…we've got a bigger problem on our hands. My government can't keep you a secret forever, I'd hate to think of the deals we'll have to make with other countries just for them to keep their mouths shut."

"I forget how different Earth was in your century from mine."

"You probably didn't expect to end up here. How are you going to get back to your own time?"

"There is something called a Slingshot Effect I am going to attempt. Compensating for the size and mass of the Enterprise and the second ship, I should be able to calculate a proper, successful trajectory home." He was completely calm about it, and it took Paris a minute to figure out what he was talking about.

"Slingshot Effect? But…you didn't have to use…uh oh." She stopped herself, "Wait a minute, why would you know about the Slingshot Effect already?" She swore the Vulcan smiled at her. He didn't tell her anything, or offer any explanation. When they reported to the transporter room to beam back to Area 51, she looked at Spock as they stood on the transporter, "When we get back, Commander, you owe me an explanation. You're not supposed to know what the light-speed breakaway factor is or what it can do, as far as I'm concerned."

"You have your explanation." He promised with a completely straight face. Next to her Paris, Doctor McCoy quietly stifled a snicker. A moment later, they touched down in a hallway inside Area 51. Paris and Doctor McCoy wore their civilian togs, Spock his duty uniform. Looking both ways before leaving the side hallway, she waved him out.

"Stay close, Commander. The only thing about you that's going to turn heads around here is your uniform." She strode down the hallway towards the hangar where they kept the T'Valla. Once they reached the hangar, McCoy gave her his communicator and she left them to inspect the Vulcan craft and judge it's flight-worthiness. She went to the Hospital Ward to visit Soval. He was awake and sitting up on the hospital bed when she came in and when he saw her, he actually smiled.

"Doctor Abraham, you look rested." He held out one hand to her, "Come, sit."

"I was hoping you'd be awake, Ambassador." She perched on the bedside, letting him take her hand, "And there's nothing like a good solid sixteen hours of sleep to solve a body's problems."

"Sixteen hours? How did you get so much time?"

"I had some help." She blushed, "Doctor McCoy was very…understanding."

"Paris, there is much you have not told me." He looked at her with a sadness in his eyes and she felt guilty.

"I don't know how, Ambassador."

"May I ask you to share your thoughts with me?" He freed his hand and raised it but did not touch her. He wouldn't, not without her permission.

"You will find new friends and much sadness, regret, estrangement, hateful words between people." She took his hand in hers, "But there is something in my thoughts that I wish I could tell you without resorting to this."

"I will know it when I find it." He coaxed her closer and she closed her eyes as he touched sensitive fingertips to her face, finding her meld-points after some searching. She saw everything he saw, every painful memory, every long night spent searching for some proof that they were not alone in the universe. Finding the Enterprise, the chaos that had followed, finding him, reviving him and the pain of being mistaken for her mother.

"Show me." He whispered, "Show me why." So she tried to go back far enough to remember the day she'd heard the news, the funeral, a week spent mourning, yearly visits to the headstone. A startling sadness hit her, a sadness that could not be her own, and Paris saw memories that did not belong to her. Memories of her mother, young, happy, beautiful. She realized how much she really did look like Miriam Abraham. She had believed that Soval and T'Pol had been put into stasis right away, but from what she saw, T'Pol had gone first. Soval had requested time with Miriam, with his beautiful Human caretaker. Feelings came with the memories that followed. Startling, raw, sensual, but never desperate. Quiet hours wasted at the bedside, or in the bed itself. Stolen moments snatched from the very will of the universe, soft touches, whispered endearments in a language alien but understood, skin touching skin. Paris surfaced from the mind-meld gasping for breath.

"Did you know you would outlive her?" Paris whispered, all too aware of the fact that her lips were damp and swollen, and a strange but not unpleasant taste lingered on her tongue. Soval took her hand in his, tracing the lines of her palm as if memorizing the stories told in the creases.

"I never thought to loose her without knowing. Is Captain Kirk in any hurry to go back to his own time?"

"They can't stay here forever, and when they leave I'll go with them. What I'll do or where I'll go, I don't know and don't care." She curled her fingers around his, looking up to meet his gaze, "Would you like to say goodbye?"

"Yes, I would like that very much."

"I'll make arrangements." She turned his hand in hers and pressed her lips to the back, "Wait here." Leaving the room, she closed the door behind her and went around the corner before she flipped open the communicator McCoy had given her, "Abraham to Enterprise."

"Kirk here."

"Jim, I need a favor."

"Trouble?"

"No, not yet. I'm bringing him back to the Enterprise."

"Dare I ask?" he sounded intrigued. Paris sighed.

"He wants to say goodbye, Captain. It's the least I can do for him."

"Oh, say no more. I'll get on it right away." Then he was gone. Paris closed the communicator. She went to stores and found clothes Soval could wear outside of Roswell, making do with a pair of olive-drab fatigues. Paris laid the bundle on the bed and backed away, "I called on a favor to Captain Kirk. Do you need anything else?"

"No, Paris. Thank you." He smiled sadly and she left to give him privacy. Had her mother really made so much of an impression on Soval in three days? When he emerged, she had already checked on T'Pol and sent her back to the Enterprise with Doctor McCoy and Spock, who announced the T'Valla fit to launch. She would withstand the light-speed breakaway factor, but once back in the twenty-third century, she would need intense repairs before she would be going anywhere else. Slipping her hand into Soval's, Paris called to the Enterprise for a beam-out. Kirk must have spoken to Scotty, because they touched down just outside the cemetery. Paris sent Soval inside and stopped to buy flowers from the cart outside the gates. She bought three lilies and three roses and tied them up with a black silk ribbon the vendor sold her for a dollar. Going into the cemetery, she found Soval waiting for her. He looked sharp and unassuming in the fatigues, the way it should be. She led the way to the section where they had laid her mother to rest. When they reached the headstone, she gave Soval the six flowers and backed away.

"Take your time, Ambassaor." She gave him respectful distance and watched him sink to his knees. His hands trembled as he laid the flowers on the grave and he touched the cold stone. Then he began to speak. He told Miriam about all of the things Paris had done just in four days, the choices she'd made and the people she'd met.

"You would be so proud of your daughter, Miriam. She goes into an uncertain future with her head high, fearless in the face of uncertainty." He shook his head, "She is such a remarkably child, so much like you were when we first met. I loathe mortality for the loss of friends." Then he lapsed into Vulcan, she guessed he was praying. Fifteen minutes passed before he struggled to his feet, she slipped her hand under his arm and helped him stand.

"Ambassador?"

"I have said goodbye. We may go." He turned to her and touched her hair with fond, shaky fingers, "You do look so much like your mother, Paris, you are so much like her and yet so different."

"That would only make sense, Ambassador." She smiled and took his hand in hers, "It is only logical for my mother to be a different person from myself." Soval just touched her hair, the side of her face, his eyes full of sadness and contentment at once. Soval just touched her hair, the side of her face, his eyes full of sadness and contentment at once.

"You will make someone very happy, Paris. The man lucky enough to marry you will be perhaps the most fortunate among men."

"Who would be _interested_? I'm a scientist!" She knew plenty of boys who were scared away by that fact. A smart, successful woman…there was nothing in the world more terrifying as far as they were concerned.

"I did not say you would find your future husband in the twenty-first century, Paris." Soval chided as they left the cemetery. Paris was ready with a come-back, and ended up almost swallowing her tongue.


End file.
